


About the Hero of Ferelden

by Odile (Odileheroin_e)



Series: Letters to Bioware (emotional vent for shocking twists in video games) [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odileheroin_e/pseuds/Odile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gratuitous pseudo-self-insert glorification/overly poetic descriptions of a couple of my favourite Wardens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, my Arcane Warrior/Blood Mage Warden was cool. So cool I had to write this. (What narcissism, doctor?)
> 
> (Full disclosure: human mage, Arcane Warrior/Blood Mage, staff + Spellweaver)

How does one begin to describe the Hero?

...she was... like snow. An ice witch. A mage, a mage who could make the skies open and rain ice, who could chill the air in your lungs and freeze the blood in your veins. And that is no exaggeration.

 _A blood mage._ That she was, too. She could make her enemies turn their maces back to whoever had crossed her. Often she would stop the blood of her opponents and paralyse them - and then she would conjure a blizzard around them, let them be eaten up by the frost.

Anywhere she went, the griffons on her chest announced her identity: an armour, ripped off the possessed corpse of a Warden-Commander of ages past. She was not a mage of thin woollen garments, but an Arcane Warrior. Her sword, the legendary Spellweaver, would radiate her cold magic, and when the spellstorm would not be enough, she would tear into her foes with steel instead.

Like snow, then - as ferocious and intimidating as a blood mage ripping her wrist open, as graceful as a rogue's choreography of slashes and chops.

But when the snow falls, there is no delaying the winter; when she fought, death was certain. Any decision she made would be final. As inevitable, as silently steady as a falling snowflake. She would not argue. For her, there was only the firm, irreversible truth of things, that she had made her decision.

Yet she loved. Her ice did not extend to her heart. She had embraced the wine, woman, and song, and she melted.

A sad story, that one. The wine has been spilled, and the song is out of tune. Only the woman remains, alone.

For the Warden would perish. The archdemon's fire tamed her blizzard, and the song turned sad when she let the Spellweaver destroy the dragon.


	2. Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II, my latest playthrough and my 2nd favourite Warden (Elf Mage, Arcane Warrior/Spirit Healer, staff + two-handed sword). and ok I know that glorifying the beauty of female characters and white skin and blonde hair is sooooo boring and actually racist, but I just downloaded some mods and upped my graphics settings and she looked fckin pretty ok. pls forgive me. also I'm a huge believer in this magical warrior princess aesthetic.

She was an elf, of all the blessed creatures under the Maker's sky. Lithe and white, translucent and fragile - or so many would deceive themselves before tasting her sword. True, she was a beauty; an otherworldly kind of grace danced on her features, ethereal and defined, soft and sharp, as if light itself was so jealous of her beauty that it wanted to drown her, cut her and outshine her. Her hair was a silky torrent of fine platinum and gold, wound into a loose chignon. The White Rose of Ostagar, some called her… all her _light_ made for a rather overwhelming effect. She was a spirit of marble, silver and _thunder_.

For it would be wrong to assume that her dainty appearance mirrored her soul. Those who knew her better have told me that she could be sporting company and that she never missed an opportunity for a joke, but what is more widely known of her personality is her "Spark". Being a mage, she commanded an enormous power in her very fingertips, and her otherwise jovial nature was known to be easily compromised by her hair-trigger temper. Now, this does not mean she was not capable of deliberation, control or bargaining. On the contrary, she practised all three of them often. Only, whenever "her people" were threatened, the "Spark" flared into life and into lightning and struck with the force of a thousand mauls and the speed of an unpleasant realisation. "Her people" was a flexible concept; it could mean elves, Fereldans or simply her travelling companions. The thunder was her signature: burning, breaking light. Few had the sense to cower when they saw her lithe frame in a mage's robe, but when a mage in full plate armour lifts a sword taller than she herself is… let us say that at that point fear is no longer a question of wit.

Ah, her armour! I have heard she salvaged King Cailan's breastplate from Ostagar. A golden hue of sunset, a majestic shell for a royal mistress. But now I am getting ahead of myself. Regardless, the sight of the Warden in her golden armour was… something that will never be recreated by anyone else. She wore the plate prouder than its original owner. The sword she pried from the cold, bloody hands of Ser Cauthrien, who was unfortunate enough to be tasked with arresting the Warden. The Summer Sword understandably became a close companion to the Warden; few have seen a lethal grace like that of her and her sword. And that is before her lightning struck the battlefield.

I have already mentioned that some knew her closely enough to think of her as a rather relaxed individual. She certainly revelled in the pleasures of life, however little they were… including occasional flirtation. Some say that she enjoyed amorous larks with half her traveling companions - witches, assassins, even Chantry laysisters - but that her true love was the future king of Ferelden. (It is even whispered that that particular "lark" never ended.)

Well, she is no more. Or so the King seems to think. I begin to think he has given up hope of her returning to court. She left years ago, see, on a mysterious errand somewhere and has not been heard of since. The court gossips have it that she went after the Witch of the Wilds, vowing to "kill that little abomination". Some speculate this would relate to a wild story that has been circulating since the end of the Blight; a story about the King, the Witch, the Warden and some dark "ritual". These whisperings haunted her, plastered themselves on the crevices of her brain, whisperings, whisperings, whispering, ceaselessly, driving her almost mad, saying: _The King has a bastard. Blood magic. Witches and Maleficarum. Darkspawn bastard. Bastard. Bastard. The King loves her not. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Blood magic. Bastard._ Well, supposedly the Warden now wants to kill the child for revenge.

I've never believed a word of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND yes, I did kick cauthrien's ass. because me and my warden are just that badass. and she stabbed morrigan in the witch hunt. perfect coda for her story if u ask me


End file.
